


The Numbers Game

by A Magiluna Stormwriter (ariestess)



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Canon Related, Gen, Missing Scene, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:52:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4459055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariestess/pseuds/A%20Magiluna%20Stormwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing she does upon entering her office -- after getting her mail, her coffee, and her schedule from her assistant -- is update the whiteboard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Numbers Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beatrice_Otter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatrice_Otter/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Four Times Laura Roslin Regretted Banning Abortion, and One Time She Didn't](https://archiveofourown.org/works/451457) by [Beatrice_Otter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatrice_Otter/pseuds/Beatrice_Otter). 



> Coming soon...

It never fails.

The first thing she does upon entering her office -- after getting her mail, her coffee, and her schedule from her assistant -- is update the whiteboard. It's been this way since the first days after she was sworn in as President of the Twelve Colonies. Or rather, what's left of them.

No, that's not true. It's not the first thing she does in the morning -- after those other three things. The first thing she does after mail, coffee, and schedule, is sit down and study the large board that dominates the wall to her right. She's moved it several times since becoming president, never entirely happy with where it is.

No, that's not true either. When the numbers are in her favor, she loves to sit and stare at it. That's usually when she has it moved to the wall opposite her desk or to her right. Which is where it is currently though, if the numbers keep moving against her, she'll have to move it again. It was on her left the last time, so maybe the wall behind her again.

Unlocking the bottom left drawer of her desk, she pulls out a small leather-bound journal, the binding cracked and wearing smooth from daily use. Billy gave it to her as a congratulatory gift just before her shuttle docked at the _Galactica_ for the ceremony. She'd thought it an odd gift at the time, but Billy always did find a way to make her smile. In the aftermath of so much destruction, that little journal became her tether to sanity and reality, much like the person who gave it to her.

"You always did know how to keep me on track, Billy."

She's had a number of assistants over the years, but none have ever compared to Billy. Not even her current assistant, that new girl, Tory Foster. Billy had a certain something about him that helped keep her calm and rational when she'd rather have just flown off the handle. His support during her cancer diagnosis and recovery was all that kept her going most days. Even when she knew he was terrified, he only let it slip when the two of them were alone, and even that was rare. After the attack, Billy always wanted her to present a calm, soothing front for the rest of the fleet. In the time since he became another shift on the whiteboard's surface, the struggle to stay strong has been difficult, but she does it to honor his memory.

Opening the book, she smiles at the inscription on the inside front cover, hearing the words in his gentle voice.

> _Plan your plans_  
>  _and scheme your schemes_  
>  _away from prying eyes_  
>  _and wagging tongues._

She takes a few moments to leaf through the journal, each page marking off a month of time, two weeks on each side of the sheet. A single number fills each line of each page, depicting the ups and downs of the last of civilization. In the beginning, she just wrote them with whatever pen was handy. Within the first month, Billy had found her a pen with green ink to use, allowing the color to tell her when the numbers rose. She's still got that pen, even now. The numbers don't allow its use all too often. But when they do, nothing feels wrong about those days. Even when she was sick to her stomach from the chemo treatments with Doc Cottle, a rise in the numbers went far to make her feel at least nominally human and grateful to still be alive.

A knock at her door heralds Tory's entrance, a stack of papers in the young woman's hands. She doesn't want to deal with the paperwork, but it's a necessary evil to her job. Even when she was the Secretary of Education, she hated the bureaucratic bullshit that went along with politics. All she'd ever wanted was the best possible education for the children of the Twelve Colonies. 

"I’m sorry to disturb you, Madam President, but the latest intelligence is showing that Gaius Baltar is--"

"Where are the numbers?" she asks, interrupting the latest exploits of her rival and his rogue religious cult.

"I'm sorry?"

"The numbers." She stares at the young woman for a long moment. "How long have you been my assistant, Tory? Hasn't anyone taught you how this routine goes yet? You give me my mail, schedule, and coffee when I walk in. When you enter my office for the first time with whatever else you have to show me, you give me the numbers. So I'll ask you one more time. Where. Are. The. Numbers?"

The younger woman scrambles to look through the stack of papers, then finds a smaller piece near the bottom. "Here it is, ma'am," she says as she offers it with a shaking hand.

"From now on, the numbers are at the top of the stack. In fact, from now on, I want the numbers when I get my coffee, mail, and schedule. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am. This won't happen again, Madam President."

"Let's hope it doesn't."

She waits until Tory's hand is on the doorknob before actually looking at the paper. She stares at it until long after the door is closed. A smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she reaches for the green pen to enter this new tally into Billy's journal.

"Two this time, Billy," she says softly as she closes the journal and caresses the leather. "It's slow going, and who knows what tomorrow will bring, but today we won."

She returns the journal and the green pen the drawer and carefully locks it. Then she stands up and walks over to the board, a vague sense of déjà vu as she picks up the eraser to remove the final number. The smell of the ink assails her nostrils when she updates the tally. She takes a step back to study the board, that smile growing bolder on her face.

"Tory," she calls, knowing the younger woman is likely hovering just outside the door. Her intuition is validated when it opens almost immediately.

"Yes, Madam President?"

"Reschedule my appointments for today, then get the shuttle ready and find out which ship I need. It's time to pay a visit to the two newest members of humanity." 

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh, and make sure we have an appropriate gift for them and their parents. Even if it's adding to their parents' credits for anything they'll need to purchase."

"Of course, ma'am. I'll let you know as soon as everything's in order for you to go."

The door closes again and she sits back at her desk. The stacks of reports and mail can wait. She needs to have her faith in humanity restored, and nothing is better at doing that than holding a precious new life.


End file.
